Chapter 398: He Was RIGHT THERE

Two criminals entered a cell. One of them walked in like it was a hotel they were pleasantly surprised by. The other walked in like it was a five-star resort in an ancient civilization.

Guinevere walked in first. Kael followed. The cell bars swung closed behind them with a sound that should have been grim and instead felt like checking into a room.

"Kael. They have a WINDOW."

She crossed the cell in three steps and stood in front of it.

"Not a bad view at all," Kael said, peering out at the glowing terrace garden below and the distant shimmer of the city stretching toward the horizon.

"That’s progressive incarceration. Our dungeons in Lunaris have no windows, Kael. Zero. Stone walls, stone ceiling, stone floor, and darkness."

"That is because it is a prison, Guinevere. People shouldn’t want to go there."

"Prison or not, the Lunaris penal system operates on sensory deprivation as a deterrent. The Luminari prioritize prisoner mental health through natural light exposure and visual access to the external environment."

Across the corridor, catty-corner to their cell, another prisoner was visible through the bars. The man was sitting on his cot with his back against the wall, arms crossed, tattoos crawling up both sides of his neck in patterns that looked less like art and more like warnings. A scar bisected his left eyebrow. His jaw was the kind of jaw that had been hit many times and had hit back more. He was staring at the ceiling with the thousand-yard gaze of a man who had been here before and expected to be here again.

Guinevere walked to the bars.

"Oh, hello there. What are you in for?"

Kael closed his eyes in prayer because his mate kept socializing with convicted felons through prison bars.

"Tax evasion," the man answered flatly. "I should have hired an accountant."

"Oh, that’s unfortunate," Guinevere said with genuine sympathy. "Are accounting services accessible to all economic levels in your society? Because in Lunaris, financial counsel is reserved for the ruling class, which creates a systemic disparity in legal outcomes for lower-income citizens. If your culture has a similar structure, then your incarceration may be less about personal failure and more about an institutional gap in resource allocation."

The man stared at her for a long time. He had been in this cell for three weeks. Nobody had ever analyzed the socioeconomic implications of his arrest through the bars. Nobody had ever asked him a follow-up question. Nobody had ever looked at him with the expression of a woman who was genuinely concerned about his access to financial professionals.

"What are you in for?" he asked.

"I have accidentally destroyed watering holes and committed mass casualties against protected beings." She lowered her voice. "Between us, I believe the charges are fair. I should have been more careful."

"Respect," the man said, and meant it.

"Honey," Kael cut in. "Let’s clarify to the nice prisoner and the guards what you are referring to by mass casualties. Because it’s not actual Luminari and that’s how it’s coming across."

"Yes, of course. Thank you for flagging that. The protected beings I’m referring to are the beings native to this soil."

"Beings native to this soil," Kael repeated. "Still sounds like people, Guinevere."

"Your botanical community members indigenous to this land."

"She’s talking about plants," Kael said flatly to the prisoner and every guard within earshot. "Flowers. In a garden."

"They’re more than plants, Kael. They’re sentient members of this kingdom’s ecosystem."

"They’re flowers."

"They’re botanical citizens."

"Guinevere, every time you clarify, it gets worse. Just say flowers."

"They grow in clusters, Kael. A family structure of beings that I took the lives of."

"Respect," the prisoner said again.

Kael pinched the bridge of his nose.

For a moment, it almost seemed like she genuinely believed her arrest was about fountains and flowers and nothing else.

Then he remembered the dagger with blood on it, the one he hid in his bathing chamber. He shook his head once. No. She knew. She had to know. Her acceptance through their matebond when she took over her body. That was the calm of a woman who had done something and was prepared to face it.

✦✦✦

The Gods and Goddesses watching held their breaths, watching the young dragon on their big screen.

Guinevere Drakencrest did, in fact, believe this arrest was about fountains and flora. She had been possessed when the arrest warrant was read in the throne room.

"Wait for it," the God of the Hunt said, rising from his chair.

One second went by. Two. Then the young dragon playfully tackled her onto her prison cot.

The God of the Hunt sat back down slowly. "He was RIGHT THERE. He was looking at her. He was thinking. I saw the thought forming. It was in his eyes."

The God of Chaos threw a grape at the screen. "Why doesn’t he just mindlink her right now?"

"Can’t," the God of War replied without looking away from the screen. "Wards in the prison block those. But even if he could, Luminari magic can tamper with dragon mindlinks. It’s not secure."

The God of Patience pinched the bridge of his nose. "How hard is it to piece this together? For fuck’s sake. Someone help these men."

"We can’t intervene," the God of Fate reminded the room.

The God of Patience stood up, walked to the window, and stared into the void for five seconds.

"Wagers anyone?" the God of War asked, breaking through the silence. "Which mate will figure out that she is completely innocent AND that she has no clue about the murder charge?"

The God of Pockets crossed his arms and shook his head. "Possessed Guinevere answered no when Blair asked her if she attempted to murder Landon Solveil. They should know."

"Ashenvale dismissed it as a question mark," the Goddess of Love said dryly. "He felt her emotions through their matebond and second-guessed the answer. And the other two mates are still fuming about being put in time out."

"How have they not asked about the ’weapon?’" the God of Fountains asked, speaking for the first time in the conversation.

The room turned to him.